


Anything Could Happen

by wildseafairies



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, Drunken Confessions, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, M/M, Trip Down Memory Lane
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3985075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildseafairies/pseuds/wildseafairies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Swan Modern Au — You know how a drunken tongue always speaks a sober mind... But it's going to take a trip down memory lane for Killian and Emma to realize what has been in front of them forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Killian had found the perfect spot to hide away from the party, a guest room down the corridor, supposedly off limits. He had managed to sneak in, about an hour ago, when the whole lot of them was busy arguing over the music. Leaving David Nolan in charge of the music at his own engagement party would have this effect, and since they were not nearly buzzed enough to enjoy his mate's music taste, the usual argument ensued. Judging by what was playing now, he thought it was safe to assume everyone was completely plastered.  

He was now lying down flat on his back on the carpeted floor at the bottom of the bed, a leg casually bent. 'Karma Chameleon' by Culture Club was playing on the other side of the door he had barricaded himself behind, and in spite of his loathe for 80’s music, he was humming along, his arm thrown over his eyes even if he had kept the lights off, a bottle of rum, half empty (or half full, it depends on how you were feeling it) held in a firm grip in the other hand.

He wasn't one to hide away and find solace in an empty room. Well, except if he appeared to be in good enough company. No, Killian Jones was usually very fond of parties and he had been very excited about this one.

Naturally, seeing David as happy as he was with his bride-to-be filled his heart with quite a lot of joy. In spite of his denial of him being a helpless romantic (something Mary Margaret had always went on and on about, her eyes knowingly piercing into his soul, it seemed), Killian had to admit that the two of them have always made the cutest couple. He aspired to find a love like theirs, someday. 

Too bad the one person his heart seemed to always have been set on was too busy flirting with a simian bastard. He clenched his jaw at the thought and took a gulp from the bottle of rum to dismiss the sudden peak of jealousy that was rushing through him.

His reflexions were interrupted by the sudden opening of the door and someone cussing loudly. « Good God _dammit_! »

The door closed abruptly, so naturally he assumed the intruder had left. But the sound of heels padding the floor sloppily in the dark followed by another series of curses proved him wrong. Apparently, the intruder stumbled against the same obstacles he had encountered a little earlier himself.

« Oi there! Piss off! » he complained lazily, his voice rough and his tongue slow, betraying the amount of liquor he had been drinking.

« Scarlet? Is that you, _mate_? » hushed the intruder, mockingly mimicking the accent.

The voice was feminine and familiar, and whoever she was, she sounded extremely inebriated. The sweet giggle that followed was also very familiar. A little too familiar for his liking, in fact.


	2. Chapter 2

« Who is that? » he inquired, his heart speeding up.

« Emma Swan. »

He let out a long sigh.  _Of course_. Of course it was her. It had to be her. She was apparently inebriated to the point that she wouldn’t even recognize him. A pinch of disappointement added itself to the intricate combination of mixed-feelings that was soundly cooking in his liquored veins. He would be lying if he didn't admit that one of the reason he'd been hiding away in here was that he secretly hoped she would come and look for him.

And now... She was mistaking him for Will Scarlet. To be quite honest, he was feeling a little bit offended by that, but yeah, all right, the sloppy tongue, the arm thrown across his (devilishly handsome) face and the darkness that surrounded them would certainly help, he guessed, along with the liquor she had been gulping down in the past hour. Besides, from where she was apparently standing, the only thing she could see was his legs. Fair enough.

« What are you doing? Are you hiding? Oh my God, you’re totally hiding, aren’t you? Ok, no, you know what, don’t answer that! I don’t wanna testify against you when Belle asks where you’ve been this whole time, cause man, she can get real scary at times…Like properly scary. »

He knew he had to say something. _Or_ …Or he could play along and act as that scoundrel of Will Scarlet for a bit before she joins the rest of the party. He didn’t see the harm of it, really. She wouldn’t stay here for long anyway, not with her bloody simian flirt of the evening longing for her in the other room. If the latter wasn’t stupid, he’d come looking for her soon enough. (But Killian had a feeling he was indeed bloody stupid.)

And to be quite honest, he could use a bit of drunk-Emma right now. She was incredibly talkative and fun to be around when drunk. Not that she wasn’t the rest of the time too, no… She'd always been his own personal ray of sunshine. But lately, she had kept her distances with him. Well, more than she usually did. And he missed her. So bloody much. Not for reasons that couldn’t be more obvious than, well, that. No, he genuinely missed her as his _friend_. 

They’ve always been as close as friends could be, and it had been so since college. Until a few months ago. It had started quite stealthily: she snapped at him a little harder than she should whenever he was joking around, he had watched her stiffen and slip away at the slightest touch. He then begun to wonder what he could have done wrong. He had tried talking to her about it but she'd dismissed the issue as quickly as a wave would dismiss writings in the sand. Then she wouldn’t reply to his texts and soon enough, he wouldn’t even see her at all, as she was always postponing plans to the point they were forgotten. On top of that, she was always working insane hours or always across the country. He’d hardly seen her more than a few times in the past few months, and never alone. Actually, now that he was thinking about it, tonight was actually the first event they were both attending in a long while. 

No, honestly, what was the worse that could happen? (And as long as he could keep her away from that monkey’s disgusting grasp…)

He could hear her sloppily sliding away from the door to let her body down on the mattress. He didn’t even have to look, he could picture exactly how her blond hair would spread around her head like a golden crown.

« My, my, it is really cozy in here, huh? You mind if I hang out here a bit, Knave? »

He opened his mouth to protest, regretting his hasty decision. 

« Yeah, I don’t care, really, I’m staying anyway. It’s so _comfy_! » She exhaled the last word in a long, long sigh that sent shivers down his spine.

He let slip a hushed mutter. « Bloody hell… »

A giggle and a sigh. 

« That’s what Killian says. » 

Well. She was even more inebriated than he initially thought. _’Killian’_ ? That was new. When the devil did he become 'Killian' to her? He’d always been ‘Jones’ to her. Ever since they had met, Emma Swan had called him Jones. And he’d called her 'Swan'. That’s how it was.

« You must be drunk, love. » he said, quite matter-of-factly, an amused grin parting his lips.

« Nooooooo. »

Yep. No doubt. She was most definitely drunk.

She paused for a brief moment, as if lost in her thoughts. He could picture her, staring at the ceiling, a frown between her delicate brows.

And then: « Killian calls me ‘love’. » 

All right now, things were getting weird. What was happening? His conscience chimed in, urging him to come clean about who she really was talking to. Or at least to get the bloody hell out of that cursed room. But as soon as this thought crossed his foggy mind, he heard her propping herself on her elbows.

« Hey! Are you…drinking? Of course you’re drinking, you’re always drinking. What are you drinking? »

He hesitated, his grip slightly tightening on his precious bottle.

« Hey! »

« Rum. »

« Share! »

« I’m not sure this is… »

« Oh, for God’s sakes, Scarlet, will you pass the damn bottle? »

He obliged, lifting his arm above so she can reach the bottle in the dark. He heard the mattress move. With his arm still shielding his face, he could only guess she was moving to meet him, or rather, the bottle, at the bottom of bed, and the brief touch of her fingers as she felt around to grasp the neck proved him right. He heard her take a few gulps, the liquid jingling against the glass of the bottle.

They were silent for a minute or so now, the only sound being the music coming from the living-room. « Do You Really Want To Hurt Me » by Culture Club, he recognized. Well, there was really no doubt: Dave had been put in charge of the music. (Terrible mistake, if you’d ask him.) Speaking about mistakes... The right thing to do right now would be to walk out of the room and join the rest of the party to alert Mary Margaret that their friend was resting in the guest room, then go home to sleep it off himself. Although, he really couldn’t help but to be curious as to why she came in here in the first place. And his drunken mind wasn’t helping his decision-making.

Consequently, before he could debate the right and wrong, he cleared his throat and performed what he thought was his best impersonation of Will Scarlet, loosening his tongue to mimic his Cockney accent. « So Blondie, tell me. Why are you hiding in here? »

« I’m not hiding. »

« Yes, you are. »

« No, I’m not. »

She paused. « Okay. Maybe a little. »

She remained quiet again. He could hear the metal of the rings on her fingers tingling against the glass of the bottle, matching the beat of The Bangles’ song that was now blasting from the living-room. He could smell the perfume exhaling from her hair, a mix of cinnamon and fresh flowers. This must be his personal hell.

« Is it because of Monkey Boy back there? » he asked, reaching to snatch back the bottle.

« Ugh…It’s just… » She muttered at last. « Scarlet, are you drunk? Cause I’m pretty damn sure I’m drunk. »

« I’m drunk. » he assured.

« No, but, I mean, are you drunk _enough_? »

« What for? »

He might be drunk, but maybe not enough to not fear what would be following.

«Cause I am drunk enough and I wanna tell you a story.»

« What ‘bout, love? »

« Killian Jones. » 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo yo yo! Two updates within a few hours... This is as good as it'll get before next update, so enjoy.  
> My chapters are not exactly as long as I'd like to, but I wanna take my time with this, I don't want it to come out wrong.  
> Thanks for the comments and the kudos!  
> I hope you enjoy it! xx


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahoy there mates!  
> I'm so sorry this took so long, but real life got in the way of my writing. Hopefully I'll be posting on a more regular basis now!  
> Thanks for the comments, and the kuddos and all! I hope you'll enjoy this new chapter! :) xx

He remained still as she repeated his name once more, letting the ‘l’ curl her drunken tongue, unnecessarily hissing the ’s’, the whole of it sending shivers to his spine. Well, now it was definitely too late to flee the scene. He’ll have to keep up the act until the end of it.

As she was gulping down some more of the liquor they were sharing, he wondered for a moment what stories about him she was willing to share. The thought made him grin a little.

She broke the silence with a sentence that put an end to any of Killian’s fantasies. « I hate that guy. »

She practically spatted it, her voice thick with inebriation. 

Killian hadn’t led a very peaceful life. He had been hurt in his life. Quite often, actually. Wether it was physically, or emotionally, he thought he had a right to say that he had quite his fair share of pain. But God helped him, never had he felt a pain quite like the one he was feeling now. Ah bloody hell, if this wasn’t a night to celebrate indeed!

« If you would be so kind to pass the bottle, m'lady? »

She obliged in the dark.

Well. At least, her drunken confession conveniently explained her attitude towards him for the past six months. How she put more and more distance between them. How she could hardly call him a friend anymore. Yes. That made perfect sense now.

He drank some more.

« Honestly. I’ve hated him ever since I set eyes on him. »

She paused for a brief moment, as if trying to fathom every pieces of evidence she could find to explain how she felt. (But Killian wasn’t too willing to know about that now.)

« The guy’s just so…infuriating, you know? Always acting like he’s the seventh marvel of the world or something. »

He thought about it for a minute. He wasn’t a saint, all right. Far from it, actually.

And of course, he and Swan didn’t quite exactly hit it off at first. Their beginnings have been rather difficult, in fact. After all, they did meet under an actual pile of bodies. And ever since, they have had their ups and downs. It was a rough patch, indeed. But to go as far as to say she hated him?

« Hey, did he ever tell you how we met? »

He hesitated for a brief moment, torn between pain, his heart shredding to pieces in his chest, and, well...mere curiosity. His very first encounter with Swan was engraved in his memory forever (it was memorable night altogether) but he never had the chance to hear her share how she remembered it.

« Don’t mind hearing your version of it. » he mumbled.

« All right. », she said, « I’m gonna tell you how I met Killian Jones. »

She paused.

« So... We were in college. »

He let his memories carry him away. That they were. Mere college kids at the time. Not quite as untouched by life as he’d like it to be ; both of them have had rough beginnings, as he had learnt later from her, but still. He was 22, freshly transferred from Ireland to Boston University, about to graduate and desperate for extra credit. So naturally, he turned to sports and joined the rowing team. (Believe it or not, he was actually good at it.) That's how he met David and the lot. 

And that’s how, after a night of libations with David, and the rest of the team, he found himself crashing a house party. 

 

**_Halloween 2006_ **

« I’m going to kill her. »

An expression of pure disgust plastered on her face, Emma Swan was trying to make her way out of the dancing crowd. They’d been here for a grand total of thirteen minutes and she was already sick of it. She was suffocating in her jacket and her tired eyes were desperately in need of the glasses she was forced to leave behind because well, Halloween means _dressing up_.

God, she hated parties. Especially costume parties. 

Behind her, Mary Margaret, dressed in her version of Snow White, all red lips and jet black hair, but with them cascading on her shoulders and down her back, intricated in some complicated braids here and there, brown fur circling her collar, belt furnished with all sorts of knives securing a vest, boots covering pants, arrows thrown on her back and a homemade bow in her band (‘Bandit Snow White’, the petite brunette called it —« As a feminist, I refuse to believe that Snow White didn’t fight back! ») was following her.

« Emma! » her friend scowled her, shouting to cover Sean Paul’s ‘Temperature’.

« What? Seriously! What are we even doing here? »

It had started (as it always started) with Ruby and a guy. And before you knew it, Emma had found herself in a crowded house, surrounded by sweaty strangers in weird outfits, drinking cheap beer from plastic cups, and watching her friend get it on with every guy coming her way, intrigued (to say the least) by her costume. Like Mary Margaret, the gorgeous brunette aimed for fairytale, but her version of Little Red Riding Hood was too scandalous to go unnoticed (and quite brilliant, Emma had to admit at least that), which was exactly the point of it.

Emma glanced at her friend, busy discarding the advances of some random guy dressed as some kind of Big Foot. Under her heavy red hooded cloak, embroided with arabesques and cut mid-thighs, Ruby wasn’t wearing much more than a thin shirt exposing her belly and the tiniest red skirt ever made.

« Hey so…Red Riding Hood, huh? »

« Well spotted, Sherlock. »

« Well, technically, I’m Big Foot, if you know _what I mean_ … »

(Ugh, gross. Even Ruby winced a little.)

« …but maybe I can be your domesticated wolf for the night? »

At that, Ruby dropped her hood quite theatrically, revealing her dark locks streaked with red and… a wolf-mask. « Too bad, my Red Riding Hood is _also_ the wolf. »

She turned around and waked away to join her friends in the corner they found refuge in, sighing heavily.

« I need a drink. I swear to God, boys are gross. »

« Understatement of the year. » nodded Mary Margaret, glancing around the room.

Ruby reached for Emma’s cup.

« I’m bored. This is boring. »

Emma eyed Mary Margaret, and sighed with relief. « See, what did I tell you? Can we go home now? »

This won her a flick from Ruby’s hand on the arm. « Are you kidding? We’re not going anywhere, not until… »

Her eyes, being the mask, were searching the crowd. Ah. The guy in question was nowhere to be found.

« Ugh, is this about this Victor guy? » cut Mary Margaret.

« He said they’ll be there! »

« They? »

« Him... and the rest of the rowing team! » Her glossy red lips stretched into a wolfish grin, perfectly matching the top portion of her face.

Emma facepalmed. « Good god… »

« Come on, Emma! It’s fun! Ugh, I can’t believe you didn’t even dress up tonight. »

Emma looked down at her red leather jacket, boots-and-jeans combo. _So?_

« Hey! I am dressed up! » she protested.

« Yeah, as what? Yourself? »

She shook her Walkman in front of Ruby’s unimpressed eyes. « Peter Quill, for God’s sake. I’ve already told you…»

« Yeah, yeah, yeah, and I told you, unless you show some boobs, old Comic Con cosplays didn't count… »

At that, Mary Margaret took offense. « What a feminist you make, Ruby Lucas! »

« Fiddle dee dee. I am a feminist. I'm Red Riding Hood _and_ the Wolf. I'm the embodiement of feminism! Now shut up, the both of you, and come dance with me! Sugababes is playing. »

**

Outside, Killian Jones, breathless, but in high spirits, and in nothing but his rowing team uniform (« It is Halloween, Captain! »), was staring at the house, decorated for the occasion. The party was obviously raging on, judging by the Pussycat Doll’s ‘Don’t Cha’ that was blasting from it and the people scarcely passed out on the lawn.

This was supposed to be a quiet night for David and him, as they both had a presentation due in the morning, but Victor Whale had managed to drag them out anyway. One of the team members thought it would be an even more brilliant idea if they brought along a rowing boat. God only knows how, they managed to carry it at the other end of the campus. Leading the group, Victor was shouting.

« Okay, Team, let’s carry the boat in! »

David, transformed for the occasion in Prince Charming (« Yes, the red cape is nothing but a duvet taken from Vic’s dorm, so what? The charm attack is very _real,_ mind you. »), seemed to suddenly jerk back to reality.

« Are you crazy? »

« Come on, Dave, it’ll be fun! »

How they managed to squeeze the boat in will forever be a mystery to him. But in a matter of minutes, they were inside the living-room, merry and jolly, still lifting the boat over their heads, under the eyes of everyone. The music had swiftly switched to the Black Eyed Peas. Killian knew this would be the moment everything would go tips up, as Kristoff, this Nordic intoxicated blond _idiot_ , started shouting and dancing along before him.

« PUMP IT! »

Problem was, because of his strong features, Kristoff was actually lifting the boat practically by himself, the others only there for good measure.

« THIS IS MY JAM, BRO! PUMP IT! »

Across the room, Killian saw a flash of horror pass on Victor’s face, busy making eyes with a gorgeous brunette dressed as Red Riding Hood and perched on scandalous heels.

« Kristoff! »

But it was too late. The giant dropped the boat, his arms like noodles on each sides of his frame, leaving it all in the hands of David, Robin, and Killian himself, all three of them struggling under the sudden additional weight. People were screaming now, Victor first in line:

« PUT IT DOWN! PUT IT DOWN! FOR GOD’S SAKE, PUT THE GODDAMN THING DOWN! »

« KRISTOFF, YOU NORDIC WALLY REINDEER! » David cried out.

But Kristoff was far gone. At that moment, the boat slipped out of their fingers, and the whole party went tumbling down like dominoes, girls screaming, drinks spilling everywhere, Halloween decorations getting knocked over in the process, along with Killian himself. The last thing he saw was a red leather jacket. 


	4. Chapter 4

She was laughing, and so was he at the reminiscence of the memory.

« …They almost killed us. Or so Mary Margaret tells me. But I just remember this black shirt. »

Wait…what now? He really wasn’t wearing a black shirt. That, he recalls without a doubt, because he had nothing but his rowing team uniform on. In October. Quite memorable indeed. Hell, even Robin still had rather embarrassing photos of it somewhere (a material proof preferably locked away in a drawer, he hoped). What was Swan talking about?

She let out a sigh. « You wanna know something? »

Another pause, not pregnant enough to let the silence wrap them though.

« I don’t actually remember how we met. Isn’t that crazy? »

Killian was lost. Didn’t she just tell him—or rather, _Will_ — all about it?

« Sorry, lass, I'm afraid I don’t understand… »

« Well, I mean... Obviously, I remember the party, and the boat disaster, and all, but like you know, the moment we talked? I have no clue. »

She snatched the bottle back from him in the dark, shifting lightly on the mattress and he heard her take a few shy sips.

« Y'know, I hated that damn shirt, because it made his eyes look all twinkly. And you know what they say about boys with stars in their eyes… »

Killian’s own eyes opened wide in the dark. What now?

« It really bothers me, though, not being able to pinpoint the moment we talked for the first time. I mean, Mary Margaret told me, hundred of times, cause of course that’s how she met David too — she hit him in the face. »

She laughed and it made him smile. Aye, and the poor Dave still complains about it. ("I still got the scar, you know!" ) In fact, the story had been told so many times that it felt a little like hearing the story of how your parents met, at this point.

« But I can’t pinpoint the moment in my own head. I’ve been trying for years…but nope. Not a thing. And you’d think coming close to death would stay with you. »

God, he wanted to tell her, so bad. But how? It was too late to stop the pretend game. So instead, he cleared his throat.

« What happened then? How… How did y'all stay such good pals? »

« Oh, well. It started with Ruby and Victor (it’s funny how it always start with them), but that didn’t last. Little did we know at the time about Snow White and Prince Charming…»

Oh yes, little did they know…

 

_**December 2006** _

« If he keeps playing James Blunt, I’m gonna have to kill him, mate. »

Killian’s head was about to explode. He was bloody exhausted.

Putting down his fifth cup of coffee since this morning, he buried his head in his hands, exasperated. In spite of all the caffeine he had ingurgitated since 8 o'clock, his eyes were burning with sleep. The source of his pain? The item Victor Whale and Ruby Lucas had became since Halloween had been broken up for a week. And Victor, with whom Killian was sharing his room, had been playing "Goodbye My Lover" out loud on repeat for a week. Mind you, it probably wouldn't have been so much trouble if Whale didn’t sing along.

On the couch beside him, David was reading his chemistry textbook as if nothing in the world could trouble him, making Killian envy him so much.

« Easy now. » He only said, an amused smile stretching his lips.

« I don't have a choice. » Killian pleaded. « He bloody goes to sleep at night listening to it. And in the shower, he sings a lyrical version of 'Ruby Blue'. »

This time, David let out a frank laugh, his head tilting backwards to rest against the purple velvet of the couch.

« Come on, Jones, be indulgent. The guy just got dumped. »

Killian looked at him dead in the eyes.« I. Haven't. Been. Sleeping. _For a week_! »

David was only giving him a resigned shrug when two figures appeared at the other side of the coffee table. Killian did his best to ignore the somersaults his stomach was performing at the sight of the long silky locks of hair and the green pool that were the eyes of Emma Swan, barely registering the presence of Mary Margaret at her side.

The couple Victor and Ruby used to form had cemented a solid group around them. They've all became good friends as they stood outside Victor and Ruby's little bubble. It was something Killian was grateful for, because it enabled him to spend time with the untouchable Emma Swan. Ever since he had met her, it was as if his world had shifted. He didn't recognize the feeling at first, for it had been a long time since he last felt that way about someone. (Has he even felt like this before?) But after a while, it had to be acknowledge that it could be only one thing: infatuation. For a short moment, he allowed himself the leisure to admire the soft blond of her hair, the curve of her jaw, how the cold outside had turned her cheeks pink, her plumped lips, before cutting it short. _Get a grip on yourself, Jones, for fuck's sake!_

This unrequired puppy love wasn't exactly of his taste, usually. Besides, there was no indication Emma felt the same way, considering the fact that she had welcomed the advances of Graham Hunter, a senior in her major she had consulted for advice. The thought of them together alone was enough to make his blood boil. 

 « Took you long enough! » huffed Killian, passing his hand through his hair in a nervous manner. « We need to talk. »

The two women lifted their eyebrows, shrugging their coats to discard them on the back of the armchairs facing the boys.

« Well, hello to you too, Killian. » greeted the petite brunette, snowflakes hanging like little stars in her long hair. « Hi David. »

Cheeks turning a shy shade of pink, she smiled brightly at David, who's face suddenly seemed...brighter, somehow. Those two were acting weird around each other lately, but he really didn't have time to care about it. Killian frowned, his eyes darting to his friend, who was setting his textbook aside for the first time since they had entered the small coffee shop. And then back at Mary Margaret. 

« Hi, Mary Margaret. How are you? »

« I'm great, tha- »

Killian shook his head and pointed his finger towards the ladies, cutting the greetings short. 

« Yeah, yeah, yeah, hi, we get it. Now listen. This is a matter of life and death. How about... you two have a little talk with your friend and I don't know... convince her to take Whale back? »

Even David let out a snort.

« He asked for it. » Swan said, readjusting her glasses on her nose, eyes severe behind them.

« You don't understand. » Killian then pleaded. « I haven't slept for a week. I have a project due on Friday, that's two days from now, I have written three lines at the most and I haven't had a proper night of rest since it all went tits up and that red storm of yours pulled our room to pieces! You don’t know what it’s like… »

« Oh, don’t I? » Mary Margaret argued, her eyebrows lifting in a mocking manner. « May I remind you that _I_ share a room with the lady in question? Do _you_ know what it’s like to be waken up in the middle of the night by your roommate throwing her cell phone against the wall every time that pathetic friend of yours calls? »

Swan nodded. « She’s angry all right. »

« Well, she does have a right to be. » Mary Margaret commented, her eyebrows shooting upwards.

« Well, he did apologize, didn't he? »

The protests were immediate, making Killian regret his words. 

« And that’s supposed to clear it? The bastard _cheated_ on her! » Emma spatted.

« What kind of misogynist exactly are you, Jones? »

Killian pinched the bridge of his nose and let their anger flow.

« Of course not… Pardon my poor judgement. » He sighed, turning to David. « David, mate, please tell me I can crash at your place. For a night? I just need _one_ decent night of sleep without having to endure Whale's cetacean laments. »

To his great surprise, David’s face turned red. « Actually, hum, Kathryn is, hum, visiting, so hum… » He stuttered, his eyes darted at the bottom of his cup.

From the corner of his eye, Killian noticed how Mary Margaret shifted on her seat, suddenly seeming agitated, before getting on her feet and letting them know she was going to get more coffee. David, a concerned frown between his brows, quickly followed her, leaving Killian and his tired mind with a stunning, nonchalant Emma Swan. But Killian was too tired to even realize his luck. The two of them said nothing for several minutes, sitting in what appeared to be a comfortable silence.

« What’s going on with them? »

Killian turned his head, following Emma’s concerned look. Near the counter, David and Mary Margaret were apparently engaged in some sort of dispute. They observed them for a moment, as the brunette was crossing her arms in a defensive manner, shooting angry looks at David, who was trying to sooth her.

« No idea. » He simply shrugged.

This wasn't the first time he had noticed this kind of little apartés. It had been a recurrent event between the two lately. Killian once questioned David about it, but the subject was immediately taken off the table, and that was it. Killian didn't insist. If David wanted to talk about it, he would have. And to be quite honest, the little drama that they were apparently engaged in was the least of his concerns at the moment.

He had no idea how to get rid of Victor. He had no idea how he was going to finish his geography paper in time. Killian pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh that ended in a yawn. Bloody hell, he could damn well fall asleep right here on this couch if he didn't have to be in his next class in approximatively...

Emma cleared her throat. « So hum...You know, if you wanna crash somewhere tonight, you can… maybe crash at my place. »

He glanced at her, not sure if his tired mind was making up the whole thing or if it was actually happening. He lifted an eyebrow and couldn't refrain a grin.

« Well, it is about bloody time, Swan… »

« Hahaha, very funny, Jones. » She mocked, unimpressed. « What I mean, is that you can take  _Alice's bed_. She's in New York for a seminar on mushrooms or what do I know. »

Of course that’s what she meant. What else would she mean? 

« Really? » he asked, still unsure.

« Well, if you wanna finish your paper... »

He acted as if he was considering her proposition for a quick moment, just for the sake of it. But his mind was already made up. Did he have a choice anyway? No. Also...spending a night in the same room as Swan? Come on, he had to be a bloody fool to refuse it.

"Lass, you sure Graham won't m-"

Mary Margaret chose this moment to interrupt, seizing her things angrily from the armchair. In awe (probably caused by the lack of sleep), he watched her jam her hat on her head so harshly she could poke a hole in it.

« Are you okay? »

« I’m perfectly fine! I just…I have to go. See you, Killian. »

Their friend disappeared out the door of the little café, blending in the snow outside. Swan shot him a questioning look, and he shrugged once more. She shook her head, her gold locks swaying on each side of her face.

« I better go, too. » She said, standing up to put on her white wool coat. « So...see you tonight?»

He blinked a few times before recovering the ability to talk, lost in the contemplation of how the blonde of her hair was melting with her scarf.

« Definitely, yeah. Thanks very much, Swan. »

« No problem. See you, Jones. »

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued...  
> (I had to cut this chapter in two, cause there's a nice Captain Swan moment coming up and I don't wanna mess it up!)  
> Hope you liked it!) xx


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (FYI This is still a flashback from December 2006, following immediately the previous chapter!)

...

Emma’s heart was pounding and she hated it.

She had been unexplainably restless ever since this morning, all twitching hands and racing heart. She had raced back to her dorm after classes to tidy up a little, Alice had left the place in such a mess. But now, there was nothing left to do but to stare at the screen of her laptop, mind blank. She fought the urge to slam it shut, side-eyeing _goddamn Killian Jones_ , who was casually sitting at Alice’s desk, apparently absorbed by his textbook.

Her back was resting against the pillow, but her whole body was too stiff for her to feel really comfortable. Tearing her gaze away from the unfamiliar figure, she stared at the now spotless room, small but bright, the two single beds, Alice’s collection of jars full of unknown substances and plants up her shelves (eww), Killian’s _overnight bag_ at the foot of the bed.

Good God. This was the worst idea ever.

« You’re all right there, Swan? »

His tone was detached, but she froze anyway, surprised, and slid him a look. He was still plunged in his book, chewing his pen. She chose to ignore him, eyes darted on her laptop screen, seeing the words of the article she was "reading" but unable to understand any of them. 

« You know, most men might find your silence off putting but… I love a challenge! »

She didn't even have to see it, she knew him well enough now to picture the cocky grin that unvariably accompanied that kind of sentence. She tried to keep a composed face, eyes on her screen.

« I’m concentrating. »

« _Right._ »

She turned to him for a moment, defiantly, a mocking smile plastered on her face. « How’s your paper going? »

« Sailing smoothly. »

« Why don’t you go back to it then? » She snapped. 

From the corner of her eyes, she saw him leaning back against the back of the chair. He stretched and his shirt exposed a small portion of his stomach. Oh, _no_. She adverted her gaze. _Eyes upfront, Emma._ But she could practically feel his gaze burning on her and she positively hated it. 

« You know, I don’t need you to share. » He continued. « You’re something of an open book. »

This time, she set her laptop aside to look a him directly.

« Am I? »

« Quite. Let’s see. You don’t trust people easily and you have a high sense of injustice. Also, you like Harry Potter, a little too much, maybe. »

She furrowed her brows. An eye to his computer screen gave her the immediate answer to her interrogations. Her Myspace page was on display.

« That’s not perception, that’s stalking. » She snorted.

« You used to be an orphan. »

Her heart sped up, and she could feel her cheekbones flame up. How could he _possibly_ know about that? Outside of Mary Margaret and Ruby, nobody here knew about her troubled past, as one might put it, and she knew her friends wouldn’t discuss her life with a (well, ok, _not completely_ ) stranger. 

« What was that? »

« Like I said, open book. » He grinned.

« How the hell would you know that? »

His face took a much more serious composure, suddenly. « You’ve got that look people have when they’re left alone too soon and for too long. »

She lifted an eyebrow. Jones slammed his laptop shut, leaving his fingers linger hesitantly on its sides. It was his turn to deliberately avoid her gaze, something that intrigued her.

« You and I may have more in common than you can think. » 

Then, after a pause: « My mother died when I was eight. My father left my brother and I soon after. We never saw him again. »

Emma was surprised, to say the least. She never expected such spontaneity from him, he who was always so secretive. He was scratching a spot behind his right ear, something she had noticed he did often when he was feeling uncomfortable. That's what decided her: seeing him embarrassed. As embarrassed as her, in fact. She took a deep breath. 

« I was found on the side of the road when I was... days old, somewhere in Maine. I had a family up until I was three but then they had their own child so they sent me back. I was alone until I was 14. » 

«Are they...? »

He was pointing at the pictures pinned on the board above her desk. Ingrid and her at the fair, when she was 14, maybe 15. Anna and Elsa in Elsa’s first car, thumbs up. The three sisters laughing in a coffee shop in Vancouver. 

« My family, yes. Ingrid took me in. Her sister and brother-in-law had just passed, and she was finding herself already raising two girls who weren’t her own. She couldn’t see why she couldn’t take another in. » Her voice cracked. « She died two years ago. »

Killian muttered an apology, but she assured him it was fine. They stayed quiet for a moment.

« Did you ever find them? Your parents? » He asked then. 

« No. But it doesn’t matter that much anymore. »

She let her eyes wander on the board and she knew he was following her gaze. Losing Ingrid had been excruciating, but she wasn't alone anymore. She had a family of her own. Here were Elsa and Anna posing in front of Disneyworld's castle, a trip they took just last summer. There was a Polaroid of Ruby pucking her lips at the camera (Emma remembered taking that one not long ago, for Halloween). One was Mary Margaret and David sitting on the sidewalk, smiling awkwardly at each other (to her surprise, even Killian was in that one, in the back, making a silly face, and she wondered how she was noticing that just now). Another one of Mary Margaret and Emma waving at the camera, holding flowers. The last one she had pinned up was a group picture: the whole gang raising their glasses in Granny's, their favourite place on campus. 

« Sometimes, family is more than just blood. » She simply said.

« Aye-»

A series of loud, vigorous knocks on the door interrupted him. Emma frowned (visits were usually scarce at this hour) and got up, smoothing the front of her sweatshirt and opened the door to let appear a distraught Mary Margaret on the threshold, eyes red and puffy from crying, clutching her handbag.

« Oh, Emma, I… »

But her voice choked and erupted in sobs, making it impossible for Emma to understand a single word of it. She opened the door wider, alarmed by her friend’s distress, and immediately reached for her, arms opened wide.

« What happened? »

She took a step back, hands cupping her friend’s cheeks in an almost motherly manner. It was odd, because Mary Margaret was usually the mother-bear in their group. « There, there... Huh... It’s okay. »

But Mary Margaret only sniffled louder, her eyes still filled with tears. It was a truely heartbreaking sight. In the two years Emma had rubbed shoulders with Mary Margaret Blanchard, it was the first time she had seen her in such a condition. Something terribly wrong must have happened. Who could have died? Panic rushed through Emma's veins and she began to shook her friend by the shoulders.

« Who died?  _Who died Mary Margaret?_ »

Mary Margaret frowned, her face becoming almost comical. « What? No-Nobody _died_. » She took a deep breath, and shook her head as if she was trying to shake something off her head. « It’s…It’s just me. I’m an _idiot_! Do…Do you remember the guy I told you about? »

Emma let out a sigh. « The one who has a girlfriend? »

Emma tried her best to keep her tone neutral. In no way was she judging her friend, but one had to admit that the latter was one to always find herself in tricky situations. Shame creeped up Mary Margaret’s cheeks under the form of a heavy blush.

She avoided Emma’s look as she mouthed a quiet « Yes. Well... He said he was leaving her, tonight, and we were supposed to _find each other_ but he… »

A new wave of tears drowned the end of her sentence and her head dived into her gloved hands as she was mumbling something that sounded a lot like « I’m so stupid. ». At sea, Emma simply hugged her frail form without a word, and realized they were still standing on the threshold, and a few doors had started to open on the floor, letting appear faces of curious students. She tugged soflty at Mary Margaret's sleeve. 

« Come on in. »

The brunette let Emma guide her inside, but froze, taken aback by Killian’s presence (dammit, she forgot about that), whose frowning face indicated that he had obviously heard their exchange. Emma could see Mary Margaret’s eyebrows shoot upwards as she greeted him. Emma felt something somewhere down her navel which surprisingly felt like a notch of ...guilt? It was odd, but yeah, that was exactly what it was. She was feeling like a little girl her parents just caught red-handed with a boy in her room, even though God knew that absolutely nothing was going on with Killian Jones. ( _Right?_ )

« Yeah, uh. » She stumbled, in an attempt to answer Mary Margaret’s questioning gaze. « Killian is staying for the night…Because of the Vic and Ruby situation, ya know... »

« Oh. Well, in that case, I don’t want to intrude. I’m- I'm gonna go. Sorry... »

Killian immediately stood up, scratching his ear.

« Don’t. » He said. « I know how to recognize a damsel in distress. I can leave you two for a moment and come back later, if you want? I have to meet with David anyways. He just texted me, the poor lad just broke up with Kathryn and he se-»

Mary Margaret let out a shriek and covered her mouth with her still gloved hand. « He did?! »

Emma's eyebrows shot upwards at the sound. Mary Margaret looked now absolutely franctic, a huge smile broadening her pink lips, all traces of the previous tears erased from her pretty face. She mumbled something that sounded like an apology, hugged Emma frenetically and was out the door in a few seconds, shouting a "Gotta go, talk to you later!" that got lost when she slammed the door behind her.

Emma slid a questionning look to Jones, but he was standing in the middle of the room, his cell phone still in his hand, wide eyes staring at the now closed door and she could tell that they were both feeling like a storm just went over them. Still flabbergasted by her friend's behaviour, Emma put her mind at work. What _the hell_ had just happened? It didn't make any sense. Unless... 

She gasped at the thought. _No._ They couldn't... They wouldn't...

But another look at Jones confirmed her suspicions ; the same lightning of lucidity was in his eyes, too. In one sentence, he summarized the situation better than she would have dared to: 

« So...Are we to assume that Prince Charming and Snow White are shagging or...? »

She nodded slowly. « Seems like it. »

« Well, I'll be damned. » 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been FOREVER I know! But OUAT is back and so am I (apparently)! I hope you will like this chapter. :) More to come soon! xx


	6. Chapter 6

Back to the future, in the dimly lit guest-room they were both hiding in, lightyears away (or so it seemed) from the dorm rooms, coffee places, and silly college students they used to be, Emma Swan’s giggle was echoing his own. It made Killian smile even wider.

Their bottle of rum was completely empty now, and he was feeling pleasantly warm and fuzzy, sprayed out on the carpet floor like a cricket waiting to be dissected. But the true object of tonight’s dissection was actually his own mind. He had to admit, this little trip down memory-lane was amusing, to say the least. It had been ages since he last let his thoughts wander that far back in the past, where everything (and nothing) had started.

Lately, he had been avoiding that type of mental exercise. It was too painful, now everything was changed. What was the bloody point in reminiscing the past? But tonight, he forgave himself for this slight misdeamenour. Although it felt very familiar, it was also the first time he was hearing Emma telling the story —their story— herself. And the way she was doing so was surprising. It was like watching a movie made out of souvenirs, of little tokens, with two perspectives (his and Emma’s) overlapped. The way she chose to tell it left some blank spaces, of course. Quiet moments, meaningless moments that she didn’t bother telling "Will", that she probably didn’t remember anyway.

But to him, everything was as clear as the day it all happened ; he was quite amazed by this capacity, in fact. Almost a decade later, he could still see the wool of her white winter coat, that she wore on the coldest December days, or the way her glasses were slipping on her delicate nose as she was reading on her laptop, regally ignoring him. He had to fill in these little details himself, quietly in his mind, and it was easy. But often, she left out entire scenes, elliptically, purposefully or not, he couldn’t tell. And that was harder, because he had to add them to her tale, and at the same time, he couldn’t help but wonder if she actually didn’t remember or if she simply didn’t think those moments mattered.

Like that night he spent in her dorm (the one and only), the night he knew they truly became friends, the night that shifted his whole perspective. Or that time, not long after, when they had to sing together "What’s Going On?" by 4 Non Blondes for karaoke night at Granny’s (a song he still had trouble listening now). Did she even remember it? And if so, was he to assume that there were other moments she had chose to forgot, too? Like that ‘one time thing’ in Victor’s closet, perchance? His heart clenched. It was New Year’s Eve, and they were quite inebriated but… How could it really mean nothing to her, when it meant the bloody world to him at the time, and still does now?

He remembered how odd those few months at the beginning of their friendship seemed. He feared he was going mad for a while. Especially after what had happened for New Year’s Eve. In spite of the passion, the irresistible attraction that had sparkled between them at the time, and of which they were both very well aware, nothing changed after. He knew she remembered the kiss. She had laughed it off, and he had done so with her, and then hated himself for weeks. But they were spending effectively more and more time together, much to Hunter’s disconvenance. She broke up with him soon after, much to Killian’s delight. Their friendship was turning into something more, he could feel it. Killian had seen an opening and had been decided to take action on it. That didn’t last long. Because well, then. Then, Neal Cassidy decided to barge into their lives.

**_March 2007_ **

« Oh, I don’t think we can have a table today. » Mary Margaret worried.

Killian had never seen Granny’s Coffee so crowded before. After all, it had been elected their favorite place to go for one particular reason: it was especially quiet. But today was an exceptionally cold day, and everyone on campus, just like them, was seeking for a place to hide away from the cold and there wasn’t one free table.

« Ugh, I don’t care, I just need coffee. » Emma shuddered.

She tucked Elsa’s arm under her own, seeking warmth, but immediately released it with a complaint. She reached for Killian’s instead, and his insides twisted involuntarily.

Bloody hell, Jones, _get a grip_.

« I don’t know why I always do that, I swear, she’s like a crocodile! Have you no warmth inside you, woman? »

Elsa let out an amused giggle. « I don’t see what’s your problem. I like the cold! It never bothered me. »

Emma rolled her eyes and tightened her grip on Killian’s arm, shivering a little as the glass door momentarily let the freezing wind in, the gesture sending jolts of electricity in his whole body. He felt a little numb, for a moment, and he knew it had nothing to do with the raging cold. He smiled to himself at the thought of having the ever alluring Emma Swan at his arm.

Nothing had happened between them, of course. _Well_... not since that ‘one time thing’ in Victor Whale’s old closet. As a general rule, he normally avoided to think about it too much. Emma Swan was his best friend. A kiss wouldn’t change that. And even now she had ended things with Hunter, _nothing_ would change. (Right?)

The bell above the door rang and a new breeze was let in, along with new customers. Mary Margaret and David were ordering at the counter, leaving Emma, Elsa and Killian himself conversing about how lovely the place was and how ‘Granny’ (who was in fact Ruby's grandmother) would gain if she expanded by taking advantage of the vacant top floor. Killian was amidst asking Elsa about the job interview she had earlier (the main reason of her visit), when a voice interrupted them:

« _Emma_? »

Killian felt Emma’s whole body immediately tense. He turned, intrigued: a man he’d never seen before, with a wooly black scarf and a scrub, hands deep in the pockets of his jacket, was standing in line, a few steps away from them. His brown mop of hair was almost artistically disheveled, probably due to the wind outside. He seemed awe-struck, as if he had just realized that this was the best day of his life, while staring in disbelief at Emma’s golden locks. Killian observed Emma take a deep breath and turn to finally face the man, his eyes travelling from her to her sister’s face, to the stranger, and back to Emma, who had let go of his arm.

« Hey, Em'. »

In the absence of reaction from her part, the stranger turned to Elsa and greeted her warmly. The blonde nodded in return, but opposite to the new arrivant, there was no warmth there. Her face was expressionless, her body as straight as an arrow. She could easily pass as an ice-statue. Killian recognized the ‘death stare’ Emma had told them about once, when she was narrating the time their little sister Anna had knocked out the snowman Elsa had just made, the winter following Emma's arrival in the Arendelle's household.

« Neal. » She said, coldly. « What a surprise. »

« Yeah…Tell me about it! »

He passed a nervous hand through his hair. Elsa rapidly introduced Killian to the stranger in the jacket (« Neal Cassidy, nice to meet y’a. ») and they shook hands.

« What are you doing here? »

Emma’s sudden intervention, her voice as sharp as cutting glass, surprised them all.

« I, err…I’m just visiting some old friends. » He eluded.

Emma batted her eyes, as if she was just waking up from a long sleep. She quickly spoke a very vague and inarticulate excuse involving books that she had to retrieve from the library. And then, just like that, she was out the door, her absence leaving a sudden vacant space at Killian’s sides. The new arrivant seemed to be as disappointed as Killian, the light in his brown eyes dying as he followed her figure disappear through the door.

Elsa kept talking for a moment, almost as if she was trying to retain him here. But Neal kept throwing impatient looks towards the glass door.

Soon, he held out a hand. « Err, hey Elsa, I gotta go, okay? Sorry…It was nice to see ya! »

And he disappeared as quickly as he had appeared a moment ago, tucking his nose in his scarf.

« Dammit. » Elsa cursed, an expression of absolute disgust deforming her features.

Killian shot her an inquisitive look, but Mary Margaret and David chose this moment to reappear. At the same moment, a table cleared in the back, and a sign from Granny behind the counter enjoined them to go sit down. They all shrugged their layers of coats and scarves on the back of their chairs, and waited for their drinks to arrive.

« So who was that? Where’s Emma? » David inquired, searching for their friend in the crowd.

Elsa sighed. « That was the _infamous_ Neal Cassidy. »

Mary Margaret let out a gasp, her green eyes widening. « No… »

« Yeah. »

Facing him, David slid Killian a confused look, a frown creasing between his brows. « I take it that you’re as lost as I am? »

Killian nodded and moved his chair so that his elbows came resting on the table.

« Care to elaborate, lass? »

The blonde exchanged a weary look with Mary Margaret, who shrugged lightly.

« He and Emma used to date back in high school. » She stated.

_Ah._

Elsa grimaced. « It didn’t end very well. »

Which explained Emma’s sudden concern for library textbooks... which Killian was pretty sure, were already safely tucked in her bag. She was definitely fleeing the scene.

« I wonder what he's doing here. »

« What did he say? »

« That he’s visiting some old friends… Right. Ugh, what a jerk! »

« You don’t like him very much, do you? » David frowned.

« Please, that’s an euphemism. And you wouldn’t like him either if… »

Her eyes lingered absentmindedly on Killian.

« Well, anyway. It’s not my story to tell. But he’s not very recommendable, trust me on that. »

He didn’t know Elsa very well at the time. But he had trusted her judgement, for she was depicted by her younger sister as a good judge of character. And she turned out to be very right: Killian despised Neal, for most appalling reasons. Him coming back ruined his every chance with Emma.

As soon as he had appeared in that damn coffee shop, Killian knew everything was lost. 

*******

Emma let out a long sigh that dragged him back to reality.

For a moment, he had been too absorbed in his memories, anger rising underneath at the thought of Neal.

Much later, on a night of inebrietation much like this one, Emma had told him the whole story. Back when Cassidy and her were dating in high school, it was in their habits to play out some harmless crimes, such as stealing from the local market. ("A little Bonnie and Clyde act to pass the time—Life could get really dull in Storybrooke... He was trying to piss off his dad, I was- I don't know what I was doing." She'd confessed.) But one day, they decided to be bolder and stole a neighbour’s car. The young couple got caught. Apparently, Neal’s father got him out of it by bribing whoever was in charge, and Neal let Emma take the fall. Alone. 

And yet, years after, she forgave him, that day he'd reappeared in Boston. If Killian had always thought she was too good of a woman for himself, the statement prevailed even more for Neal. Despite their efforts, no one really approved of Emma and Neal's reconnection, and to this day, some tensions persisted (it was considered unwise to leave David, who had grown very protective of her, in the same room as Neal—same for Elsa). He let his thoughts carry him to Henry, and how the little lad turned out to be the only good thing to come out of all this...

« Hey...are you listening? »

He wasn't. Not really. 

«... I don’t hate him at all, William. » 

What was she talking about now? He hated himself for not paying attention. How was he supposed to catch up? 

« Sorry, love, you were saying? » He apologized, pinching the breah of his nose in the dark. 

« I really, really tried. But I really, really, _really_ don’t hate him. In fact I think… » She continued, her voice only a murmur now. « I think I’m pretty much in love with him. With Killian. »

His eyes jerked open. He must have dreamed it.

« Come again? »

His words were breathless.

« I said it's sad. I think it’s sad. Sad, sad, sad… »

« No, wh- what did you just say? The bit about... About Killian? »

His heart was beating so hard, so fast, in his chest he thought a bird was trapped there for a moment. He waited, expectantly.

« Yeah, I know, it sucks, huh? » She mumbled. « I’ve been in love with the man for years. Never had the guts to tell him. How pathetic is that? »

_Bloody hell._


	7. Chapter 7

« Scarlet? Please say something. »

Her voice was suddenly timid, breaking the silence that surrounded them for several minutes already.

But Killian couldn't say anything. He could barely breathe, in fact. And he needed to sit down. Although, he was pretty sure he was already sitting down. It was hard to tell what was real, and what wasn't.

« Did you fall asleep? »

He ignored the question, his heart still pounding inside his chest. 

« Have you err… Have you ever considered sharing your feelings with him? »

His suggestion was welcomed with a snort. « Right… You’re a funny one, Will Scarlet. I think I can see what Belle sees in you. »

« Why not? »

« Well, for one, Killian Jones has made very clear throughout the years that I am _not_ his type. Not. At. All. I mean…Okay, maybe I tried, once. »

 

**_June 2008_ **

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Robin and Marian got married the summer following Henry’s birth. 

From a corner of the dance floor, Emma was sipping absentmindedly her champagne, the bubbles already getting to her head, making her body sway. _God_ , she almost forgot how good it felt to drink alcohol. She sighed with contempt.

So far, everything was going perfectly fine. The ceremony had been a real success, fairytale-like. As a bridesmaid, Emma was secretly proud of herself for not tripping on the carpet down the aisle and not making a fool of herself : wearing high heels hadn’t been in her habits for a long time since her pregnancy (it had never been her strong suit anyway). Everyone Emma loved was here (except maybe for her precious son), and everyone looked happy. 

Marian, stunning in her lily-white dress, was laughing happily at something Robin was whispering into her ear, and the sight made Emma smile fondly. Her eyes traveled lazily from them to Mary Margaret who was playing with David’s hair, arms secure around his neck, and from them to Ruby and Victor (who were apparently doing it again, judging by Victor’s hand on Ruby’s ass), swept over Kristoff and Anna (well, _that_ was unexpected) before landing on one dashing Killian Jones and his partner. 

Much like the bride and groom themselves, they were dancing as though nothing existed in the world but the two of them. Killian’s hands rested on the small of her back, where her bare skin was meeting the soft fabric of her dress. One could tell Killian was in love, as it was written all over his face. It was in the way his eyes softened every time he looked at her, in the way his fingers were running through her brown curls. She had watched them earlier, during the ceremony, and it was obvious they were smitten. 

When he bent over to graze her lips with a soft kiss, Emma shyly adverted her gaze, sighing.

It had been a surprise, though, him bringing her to the wedding. Of course, their couple was not new. They had met during his travels last year, a short while before Emma and Neal decided to break up (and way before Emma knew she was pregnant). Milah Gold, editorial assistant at National Geographic, helped him secure a job in London. One thing led to another, Killian fell for her and never left her side.

Until Henry’s birth in January. Emma didn’t ask unnecessary questions when he appeared at her door one night, distraught and disheveled, but with a happy smile on his lips as he finally was getting to meet his best friend's son ; she knew Killian well enough to understand that he must have had good reasons to be back. He might not know it (she never could gather up the courage to do it) but it had meant a lot to her, knowing her best friend here, in the same city, and not across a goddamn ocean.

He had been beyond amazing not only with her, but also to her child. She could really tell he was very fond of Henry, and the feeling seemed to be mutual. They didn't go to such lengths as to move in together, but the smooth routine the three of them fell into together did not present much difference. She had lost count of the nights he had spent on her couch, and how many times he had quite literally saved her from turning into a walking-disaster, for being a full-time mother and a grad student had been as excruciating as she had expected it to be. In no way Killian pretended to be a substitute for Neal ; although, his constant support meant so much more than she would ever admit. 

And as much as she hated to even think about it, his presence added fuel to her long-forgotten affections towards him. Once, a long time ago, before Henry was born, before Milah, before Neal even came back into her life, she had dared to consider the idea of Killian and herself becoming something... _more_. But they were friends more than anything else, and she wouldn’t let her stupid feelings get in the way. She would not cost them their friendship. _Not ever_. 

And then, three months later, things started to change when Milah reappeared. She wanted him back, and he complied. Of course he would. He was in love with her, for God's sake. It had been foolish to even dare to think that she could keep him to herself forever... 

Her sister’s sudden embrace, arm resting on her shoulder, tore her away from her contemplations.

Like Emma, the soft blue of Elsa’s bridesmaid’s dress was putting an emphasis on the admirable pallor of her skin, making it almost glow under the light, and her braided-hair were elegantly intertwined in a golden-white crown that was sitting on her head, making her look more regal than ever.

« And here we are. » She sighed, taking a sip of champagne. « That’s one good woman lost to marriage. One! »

Emma snorted almost embarrassingly, putting a hand to her mouth to prevent champagne to come through her nose, and followed her sister’s gaze to the newlyweds. They were swaying smoothly to Tony Bennett's hoarse voice, in the middle of the dance floor, eyes only for each other, oblivious of the world.

« At least, I like my dress. » Elsa commented, smoothing the bouncing tulle-made skirt of her dress with contempt.

« Yeah, me too. »

« How come you’re not dancing, sis'? »

Emma didn’t bother with a date. Motherhood didn’t exactly leave her time to think about that sort of things. (Or so that's what she was telling herself.) 

« Please…have you seen me walk? How do you expect me to dance in those? »

She pointed at her feet.

Elsa let out a joyful laugh. « I simply think you didn’t have enough champagne yet. »

« Maybe. »

But her gaze swept over the dance floor and landed once more on Killian and Milah. Emma could feel a smidgen of envy pinch her heart, that she dismissed quickly by gulping down a new sip of champagne.

« Did you see our Anna? »

An amused smile was stretching Elsa’s lips. At the buffet, near the chocolate fondue, their younger sister was giggling as she was feeding Kristoff some strawberries. 

Emma nodded. "She looks happy."

The music switched swiftly, and the party cheered in appreciation. Emma felt a chill going down her spine and started to withdraw even more into her corner, but her eyes instinctively scanned the crowd anyway, looking for Killian. She couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed at the realization that he was nowhere to be seen.

That was _their_ song, but why the hell would he care, now that he had Milah? He didn’t care. Not the way she did, at least. Shaking her head at her own stupidity, a sad smile grazing her lips, she picked up a new coupe from a waiter’s tray.

« Swan! »

The crowd parted at once. He was looking at her, more dashing than ever in his suit, grinning from ear to ear. Milah and her perfect deep brown curls were nowhere in sight. 

« That’s our song. »

« I know. » She simply said.

He held out a hand. « Come and dance with me? »

She gave a side-look at Elsa, who was simply smiling, the blue of her eyes soft under her purple lids. 

 _Well._ She bottomed down her glass and placed it on a tray, her heart pounding in her ears. She took his hand, electric shocks tickling her skin at his touch. She let him guide her through the crowd, never breaking contact. Her insides were all warm and fuzzy (the champagne was to blame, probably). She wanted to giggle, feeling a lot of things at once.

_‘Twenty-five years,_

_and my life is still_

_Trying to get that great big hill of hope_

_For a destination.’_

« I barely saw you today. »

His voice was only a hoarse whisper in her ear.

« Well, you know…Bridesmaid's duty and all that. »

« By the way, have I told you that you cut quite the figure in that dress? »

She felt a light blush spread across her cheekbones. «  _Right_ …»

The inflexion of his voice changed, authoritative. « I'm serious, Swan. »

She didn’t believe a word of it (especially considering how a pregnancy combined with grad school had left her), but she thanked him anyway. No need to make a fuss out of this. They swayed in silence, her arms around his neck, her chin propped on his shoulder. She wasn’t sure anymore if it was the music that was sending chills down her spine, or something else completely. She was feeling better than she ever did in the last two months. In the tight embrace of his arms, she felt safe. She felt at home. _God_ , it was time to slow down the champagne. 

_‘And I try, oh my God do I try, I try all the time,_

_In this institution._

_And I pray, oh my God, do I pray,_

_I pray every single day,_

_For a revolution.’_  

« So how’s the little lad these days? » He asked then. 

« Good. Neal's got him for the weekend. »

She looked at him, smiling playfully.

« But I’ll tell you what…I think he misses you. »

He chuckled, his ribcage resonating against her chin. « I miss him, too. »

Her heart missed a beat, tears tickling her eyes. God, she was feeling so _stupid_. She dropped her gaze shyly, her fingers running over the silk of his tie. They kept quiet for a while, enjoying the song, _their_ song.

« I miss you, too. » She finally confessed, blinking away the tears that were dangerously forming in her eyes. « It’s weird not having you around as much as…before. »

« Aye, love. It’s weird for me too. » 

_‘I scream from the top my lungs,_

_What’s going on?’_

She could feel her cheeks burn, aching to scream, too. Memories were rushing through her mind. Suddenly, this was all too much, the warmth of his body, the blue of his gaze, his scent (something that always reminded her of the sea) envelopping her senses like a veil. She couldn't breathe and the three glasses of champagne she had ingurgitated were _not_ helping. A cold shower would be certainly rather helpful, in fact. Thankfully, the song ended, and she parted from him, shaking a little in her high heels, ready to thank him for the dance and flee the scene before making a complete fool of herself.

But his grasp on her hand did not weaken and before she could understand what was happening, he was leading her outside the white tent. 

« Who would have thought Sherwood, Oregon would receal such a treasure, huh? » 

He made a grand sweeping gesture towards the scenery. It was an ideal place for a wedding venue indeed, all in hills and open spaces. They climbed up the path pointed out by an alley made of fairy lights. Soon enough, they were far enough from the tent dressed for the occasion into the gardens of Marian's family's vineyard that the music had been turned into a distant hum. The fairy lights were only dancing beams, floating in every trees. Emma's feet were hurting, and if they were going for a stroll in the park, it was best to slid off her heels to carry them in her hand. They walk in silence, side by side, until they reached a slope.

She sat, breathless, on the tread of the stairs leading up to the cottage, hidden higher up the hill by a copse. Killian stayed up on his feet to admire the view, hands in the pockets of his trousers. She could only see the shapes of his slim figure in the dark, but somehow, she knew something was off.

Well. _Into battle, Swan._  

Emma cleared her throat. « So… Milah, huh? She’s quite…impressive. »

He moved to take a seat at her sides, and she caught a glimpse of his face. She didn’t miss the way his eyes sparkled at the mention of his loved one.

« Aye. » He smiled. « She is. »

She nudge his shoulder with hers. « Come on Jones, spill the beans. »

He sighed, evoiding her gaze. « I’m thinking about proposing to her. »

All of a sudden, Emma felt more sober than ever, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice on her head. Talking about cold showers... That one had its immediate effect. She didn't know how to respond to that, a knot forming in her throat. 

« That’s…wonderful! » She croaked. 

He arched a brow. « You really think so? »

She nodded frenetically, biting her lips hard. She didn’t want to look at him, but how could she not? She looked up. As expected, she wasn’t fooling him. _Dammit!_ How could she be so terrible at lying? 

«  _Swan._ »

She let out a sigh, careful in the choice of her words. « It’s… a little fast, isn’t it? »

He tore his gaze away from her to stare at the view, furrowing his brows. Clearly, she had upset him. But what was he expecting from her? As much as she was willing to be supportive, the reality of the situation couldn't be denied. He was considering marrying a woman he had met a year ago at the most. They had already broken up once, for obscure reasons, and were back together since only two months. If this wasn't the definition of rushing, she didn't know what was. 

On the other hand, she had seen him today. His feelings for Milah were obvious, and she loved him too. How could she not?

She stayed still, contemplative. Her reaction didn't have anything to do with how Emma felt about him. _No,_ she thought, she just wanted what was best for her best friend in the world. ( _Right?_ )

« You know what? Never mind. I’m sorry… » She shook her head. « I'm being silly. It’s just…You know how I feel about commitment. »

« Aye. »

She examined his profile, her eyes grazing his smooth jaw, the curve of his lips, the angle of his nose, his eyes, which blue she could only guess in the dark. She wanted to graze her knuckles against his jawline, bury her nose in the crook of his neck. She knew, at this exact moment, how much she felt for him. She was tempted to say it out loud, to let go. She wanted to kiss him, grab him by his tie, like that 'one time thing' so long ago. But she couldn't. She wouldn't.

Instead, she asked, expectantly: « Do you love her? »

He remained silent for a long moment, before nodding slowly. Emma's heart clenched, but she ignored it. This wasn't about her. It was about Killian. She loved him and she wanted him to be happy. 

« Then I’m happy for you. »

She let him go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is "What's Up" by 4 Non Blondes!  
> I looooooved writing this chapter, so I really hope you'll like it! xx


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides in fear*

Killian propped himself back on his bottom, fighting the urge to rub his eyes in disbelief. The whole thing was absurd, there was no other word for it.

He glanced up at her. She was still lying down on the bed, all he could see was the outline of her profile, her hair was spread out just like he had imagined it earlier, glowing almost surrealistically under the ghostly moonlight. He managed to snake back in the dark until his back rested against the wooden chest of drawers behind him.

He had listened to her tale of Robin's wedding with acute attention, and quite frankly, he didn’t know what to make of it. He remembered the dance they shared that night all too well. He remembered her, an absolute vision in her pale blue dress. He remembered his heart beating so fast it felt like it was trying to make its way out of his ribcage when she took his hand. He remembered never wanting to let go.

But then, it had came back to him that the same hands had held and grazed black velvet and brown curls, mere moments before, and guilt had rushed through him. 

Make no mistake, his love for Milah had been genuine. In fact, during the short time they had spent together (before the whole thing went to absolute pot), he had been spending quite a considerable amount of time thinking that she was his true love. To him, she was _it_. Hence the proposal. Something that he was genuinely considering, ever since Liam had given him their mother’s ring, when he brought Milah along with him for Christmas that year. ("Take it, you wanker! She wanted _you_ to have it." "Oh, and what am I supposed to do with it?" "I don't _bloody_ know, you figure it out!")

On the other hand, deep down, he had known his heart would always be torn, for as long as Emma Swan would be walking the earth, his soul would never be truly at peace.

That night six years ago, he needed to know. That was the only reason he had opened up to her about the proposal at all. When he'd told Emma he was considering marrying Milah, he wasn’t doing it as a man opening up to his best friend in the world, as he had assured himself at the time. _Bollocks_ , that was!

And now…He was supposed to believe...Now, she was bloody telling him ( _well_ , in a manner of speaking) that she… What was she even trying to say anyway? That if he hadn’t opened his bloody gob and told her about the proposal, she would have…what? Professed her undying love for him?

That was plain _absurd_.

Of course, he had hoped, all those years, that maybe someday... _Someday_ , the alluring Emma Swan would somehow realize that what she had been searching all her life was standing right in front of her. And then the sun would explode, and the Earth would swallow all of mankind. (Cause, let's face it, it would be more bloody likely.)

« So why didn’t you tell him? » He blurted out, too stunned to repress his curiosity.

« Scarlet, have you been listening at all? He was gonna get _married_. »

Aye. Fair enough.

« But he didn’t, did he? » He muttered, then. « He didn’t even propose to her. »

He heard her let out a short annoyed sigh. « Well, I- Wait a minute, how do you-»

 _Bloody hell_. Will Scarlet was not supposed to know that. Not many people in their circle even knew at all about that ; if he blew up his cover now…

« ’Tis what I heard, anyway. » He eluded, forcing on the accent for good measure.

« Huh. » She said simply, leaving no hint for him to know if he had fooled her or not.

« So... why didn’t you tell him, then? »

She didn’t answer immediately, and he wondered if she was pondering the possibilities in her head.

« I don’t know. » She muttered, finally.

« Swan, what if…What if he feels for you as much as you do for him, but…he’s always been too much of a bloody coward himself to show it? »

He had no idea where this was coming from, but he regretted his words almost immediately when he heard her laugh. 

« Yeah…That’s not likely. »

He remained silent, waiting for her to go on, but she kept quiet, too. He slid her a look, tilting his head to the side ; she was making her hands dance hazily under the moonlight, wrist twisting, fingers curling to an unknown rhythm, projecting shadows on the wall opposite them.

« Really? It never occurred to you? »

Once more, he didn’t know how to interpret her silence.

« It’s not like that for him. » She finally confessed. « I mean…Did you see the girl he brought tonight? »

He arched a brow. _Tink_? She thought he had brought Tink as a date? Oh, bloody hell.

« Well, actually… »

« I mean... » She interrupted. « Women like Milah? That’s one thing, but that dyed blonde? Seriously? And what’s with the nickname? Why would you do that to yourself? »

Well, well. If this wasn't a sight (again, manner of speaking) to behold! Emma Swan was feeling jealous ; and _he_ was the reason why.

Killian felt a grin strech out his lips. « Jealous much, are we? »

She snorted. « What? Ugh...Please, that's not...I'm not... »

A warmth that had nothing to do with the effect of rum was rushing through him in a pleasant manner. She was actually jealous. Silence fell once again between them, wrapping them like a veil, but he wanted to yell.

He wanted to tell her how much he loved her. How he had always loved her, from the moment his eyes fell on her and that red leather jacket of hers, so many years ago. He wanted to tell her everything that happened she didn’t recall, fill all the voids. He wanted to tell her how he had always wanted her. He wanted to tell her how that kiss they shared in an old closet still made his heart race, and how he wanted more of her. He wanted to tell her the truth about why he never proposed to Milah.

But he couldn't. Not now. Not like that. 

« Why did you tell me all this? » He enquired instead. 

« I know you, Scarlet. You won’t remember a thing in the morning. »

Too right. Will Scarlet won’t remember a thing, since he had nothing to remember. Killian Jones, though? Oh, that was a night he would never be able to forget. 

He couldn’t even think straight anymore (and again, it had nothing to do with the rum). Well, even less now with all the nonsense that was coming out of Emma’s mouth. His heart was racing, his cheeks were burning, and an idiotic grin had came and replaced the gaping mouth he was displaying a little sooner. He tried to stop, but he couldn’t. Out of desperation more than anything else, he reached into his pocket to retrieve his flask, and took a gulp of rum, swallowing the lump in his throat along with it. His breath was almost erratic. _Bloody hell_ , the things that woman could do to him!

« All right Scarlet, I’m gonna go home now. Gotta pick up my son early tomorrow. Nice talk. »

He saw her ghostly figure stand up and stumble hazily out of the room, leaving him completely stunned. In the living-room, the party had switched to karaoke night at some point, apparently, and someone on the other side of the door that separated him from the rest of the world was totally rocking Journey’s "Don’t Stop Believing".

God helped him, he hated 80’s music.

  ******

Emma’s head was pounding. And it wasn’t pleasant at all.

Her eyes fluttered open as she propped herself on her elbows and she winced, feeling the pain increase as she was taking in her surroundings. What the hell had she been drinking last night?

Judging by the unfamiliar quilt someone had thrown over her body, she wasn’t in her room. Pure panic rushed through her, having no memories whatsoever of what happened the previous night. She took a look under the quilt to check on her clothes. She sighed with relief: thank God, she was still wearing her navy blue dress… and yes, she still had her panties on as well. Good job, Emma.

Her sore head went to rest against the headboard as she looked around her. She identified the massive wooden wardrobe in the corner immediately: apparently, she was in one of Mary Margaret and David’s upstairs guest rooms. Good. Familiar territories. And at least she didn’t end up at Walsh’s. She barely knew the guy, and quite frankly, she wasn’t too sure about the whole thing she had going on with him. But now was not the time to think about that.

She had to pick up her son.

She got up, folded the quilt neatly, careful not to make any hasty moves that could worsen her headache. Then she grabbed her heels at the end of the bed and tip-toed her way out. The floor was quiet: she suspected the happy couple to be still asleep. After a detour by the bathroom to make herself look a little more presentable (good call, because she still had smudged lipstick around her lips and she swore this was the last time she tried out smokey-eyes), gulped down an Advil, and went downstairs to retrieve her stuffs and be gone as quietly as she could. She’ll catch up with her friends later, they'll understand.

Her coat was hanging in the vestibule, but she couldn’t lay hands on her phone. She cursed between her teeth and dropped her shoes on the spot. How was she supposed to find her damn phone in this massive house? She found her way to the living-room and started looking between the cushions, when her ear caught the radio playing in the kitchen. The happy couple might not be asleep after all. Maybe one of them would help her look for her phone (and okay, maybe a cup of coffee for the road wouldn’t hurt).

She pushed the door wide-open, expecting to find either David or Mary Margaret there, or both, happily cooking breakfast behind the stove like the fairytale characters they were.

« Hey… »

She stopped dead in her tracks as Killian Jones was backing away from the stove to face her, spatula in hand, hips swaying to Salt'N'Peppa's "Whatta Man". She could actually feel her stomach drop, performing somersaults somewhere down her navel.

( _God_ , what the hell was wrong with her?)

He was wearing a 'Boston University' zipped hoodie that she suspected belonged to David and was barefoot. Obviously, he had spent the night here too. She tried her best to keep a straight face but it was really too early in the morning to be dealing with the phenomenon that was Killian Jones. It was too early for anything anyway.

Judging by the hand that went instinctively to scratch his right ear (something she knew he did unconsciously whenever he was feeling uncomfortable), he obviously wasn’t expecting her either. He shut down the radio. 

« Swan? What are you doing here? »

She arched her eyebrows, and started roaming through the kitchen looking for her phone, determined not to look at him.

« Hello to you too, Jones. »

« Sorry, I just…I assumed you went home last night. »

Okay, time to get out of here. Where was that _damn_ phone?

« I could say the same about you. »

« Aye, no, I must have dozed off downstairs… »

She shot a look at him, and saw him bite his bottom lips, as if he was afraid he had said too much. She didn’t understand why he was fretting. It’s not like this never happened before. As long as she remembered, they always used to crash at their friends' place after a night like this.

« Where’s the happy couple? Still sound asleep? » she asked absentmindedly.

« Grocery shopping. They left a note. »

She still wasn’t looking at him, but somehow, she could feel his eyes piercing her back. Or maybe she was imagining it.

She heard him clear his throat. « Err…I was making breakfast. »

She lifted a fruit basket.

« I can see that. »

« Would you maybe fancy some? »

Oh, and have more of this uncomfortable (absence of) conversation?

« No thanks… I was just gonna go. »

« I’m making blueberry pancakes. » He said, tentatively.

« No really, I’m out of here any minute now, I have to pick up Henry at Neal’s… I just can’t find my damn phone. »

« Emma… »

She froze on the spot, a pile of magazines mid-air. _‘Emma?’_ Since when did he call her ‘Emma’?

« …lass, we haven’t seen each other in ages. And huh there’s something… »

She turned to finally face him. Something wasn’t right here.

The front door interrupted him, though, letting Mary Margaret and David, as fresh as garden roses, chime in their own brand new kitchen.

« Oh, good, you’re up! » Mary Margaret smiled.

David planted a kiss in Emma’s hair as he brushed past her to dispose of the groceries and she felt Mary Margaret’s arm wrap around her shoulders.

« Honey, you look like hell. »

She turned to the petite brunette. A happy smile was stretching her lips, her cheeks were subtly colored in pink, and Emma couldn’t help but notice how her new haircut really made her look like a pixie. She was radiant, as always. Emma let out a sigh.

« And how the hell do you look so…fresh? »

« Good metabolism. » she shrugged before taking her ‘mom voice’, pointing a finger at her. « You could use some breakfast. »

Emma grimaced, her eyes unintentionally shooting at Jones’ back. She readjusted her loose ponytail just to make something with her hands.

« Actually, I was just about to go. Henry’s at Neal’s. I was just looking for my phone…»

David, busy unpacking groceries, immediately protested. « Come on, we haven’t spent time together in ages. And it’s still pretty early! »

« It’s ten. And, may I remind you, we’ve had a party just last night. Sadly, I have to say I don’t remember much of it, but I _do_ have the headache to prove it. »

Mary Margaret’s head reappeared from behind the fridge’s door. « But we barely saw you! » she argued, pouting.

« Yeah, where did you guys disappear last night? » David added with a frown.

It was Emma's turn to frown.

« What do you mean? »

« Well everyone was … »

But Jones chose that moment to knock over a couple of empty pans, which went tumbling down on the floor, making Mary Margaret jump slightly.

« Apologies. » He said, scratching behind his ear, before bending down to clean the mess. « Err, Dave could you pass that spoon over there, mate? »

Emma turned to Mary Margaret once more, ready to discard her invitation. The brunette’s eyes were traveling from Jones to Emma herself, a frown settled between her beautiful brows. She blinked and shook her head as if she was trying to shake a thought off of it. Why was everyone acting so _weird_ this morning?

« Come on, we invited everyone over for brunch anyway! » Mary Margaret smiled. And then, before anyone could say anything: « We’re gonna go set the table outside. » (She took her mom voice then again, and Emma could feel her determination flicker. Dammit.) Emma, you’re _staying_. Killian, go on with breakfast, it looks lovely. Emma, you help him. Charming, grab the plates. »

Her fiancé, who knew better than to question her, obeyed with a shrug, and followed his future wife on the patio, letting Emma deal on her own with her headache, her mixed feelings, and Killian Jones. _Great_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOOOO... Emma still doesn't know. What do you think will happen?   
> Thanks for reading!! And for the kudos, and comments! Reviews are always welcomed. :) xx


	9. Chapter 9

With an annoyed sigh, she started to make scrambled eggs. By the window, the sight of Mary Margaret and David setting the table outside was a welcomed source of distraction: she watched as David bent down to pluck out a flower to hand it to his fiancée. (Seriously?? The only thing missing from this scene was maybe a couple of blue birds chiming and a newborn doe appearing from nowhere.)

She wasn’t one for romance. Nah...she was way too guarded for that. Too damaged, too, maybe. (Probably.)

Neal had turned out to be such a disappointment. He had been her first love, and when he let her down for the second time (she’d been a fool to take him back at all, she knew that today), she thought this would be all that he would be. But a twist of fate made him the father of her only child.

It hadn’t been an easy road, but in the end, she was grateful. Because the only good thing that came out of this was her son. And nothing in the world would make her regret that. Oh sure, their situation was far from being ideal, but it could have been much worse. He could have walked out on them ; he didn’t. He was far from being father of the year, but all in all, he was a decent guy, and she knew he would do anything for them (for Henry, at least).

After Neal, she’d pretty much gave up. Anna’s favorite pastime was to set her up with guys, and more often than not, when the thought of being involved with a woman who had an 8 year old didn’t drive them away after the first drink, she’d been asked how she’d been coping without a man. Seriously. (One can easily understand why she doesn’t go further then one drink.) 

Truth was, she had a man in her life: Henry. She didn’t need another one. And she didn’t care for one.  

 

**July 2007**

She was curled up under her covers, early afternoon light barely filtering through the curtains.

She didn’t know exactly how long it had been. A couple of days? She’d lost count after the third meal Elsa had kindly brought her. She didn’t touch the food ; it made her feel nauseous. But then again, everything made her feel nauseous. 

She barely heard the knock on the door and didn’t bother to move. She shut her eyes, not in the mood to talk, not in the mood for anything. The door opened with a soft shriek and someone slid inside, and she heard them crouching down near her bed.

« Swan? »

_Oh._

That couldn’t be right. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He had left at least a month ago, his internship was supposed to start on the 20th. He was not supposed to be here. 

« Swan, love? » 

She inhaled deeply to gather her strength, and turned around to meet a pair of stormy blue eyes. He tilted his head, soft smile on his lips. 

She knew this was stupid, but somehow, he looked changed, already, as if life after graduation was already leaving its print on him. (Maybe it was the stubble grazing his jaw? It looked good on him.) But then again, it wasn’t that stupid ; she was changed, too. A lot could happen in a month. Hell, a lot could happen in a week! 

« Hi. » She croaked, her eyes stinging with tears.

Stupid hormones.

« Hi yourself. » He answered. « May I? »

She nodded and watched him take off his boots, one after the other, before climbing into bed. He laid down on his side next to her, an arm slid under the pillow.

« Who told you? » She asked, after a moment.

« Elsa. » He winced. « She was worried, love, don’t blame her…»

« I’m not. » She assured, sighing. « But aren’t you supposed to be in London? »

« London can bugger off, for all I care. »

« What about your internship? You have to go back. »

« I’m here now. » He whispered, before dropping his gaze, suddenly hesitant. « So…It’s true, then? »

« Yep. »

« How many weeks? »

« Nine. »

« Have you told him yet? »

« Nope. »

« Do you intend to? »

She shrugged.

« How do you feel? »

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She tried again:

« I- I don’t think I can do this. I grew up alone. I can’t be a mother. »

The tears finally came out of her eyes, only to flood the pillow under her head. _Great_. She shut her eyes, her heart clenching with pain. She heard Killian sigh, and a moment later, she could feel his arms, strong and comforting around her, and she let him drag her frame closer to his. He let her cry for a while, pressed against him, and she felt his hands stroke her messy hair. She eventually calmed down, the sobs soon reduced to waves, washing periodically along the shore.

« All right, look at me Swan. » He muttered.

She didn’t want to. She didn’t want him to see her like that (which was why she chose not to call him in the first place), and she knew it was silly. It was only Killian, after all. 

She felt his hand cup her cheek, his thumb tracing the curves her face softly. Slowly, he lifted her chin, his fingers lingering on her skin. She didn’t fight it and finally met his eyes.

« You are not alone in this. You don’t have to be. You have your sisters. Mary Margaret. Dave and… »

« And you? »

« Aye. Me. » He nodded. « And countless other people. And Cassidy might be a wanker, but I don’t believe he’d let you down on this. »

« What if he does? »

« I’ll take care of that. You’re a tough lass, Swan. You can do this. If that’s what you want. »

 

*******

 All right, two. She had two men in her life and she didn’t care for another.

She adverted her eyes, brushing the memory away, when Mary Margaret and David paused to share a kiss. She felt her lips stretch in a sad smile. She would probably die before she could admit this out loud, but a part of her wished she could find a love like theirs, someday.

« Do you suppose they’re capable of having a Disney-themed wedding? »

Jones nudged her hip with his, making her startle a little. He was looking out the window, like she was a moment ago. 

She rolled her eyes. « Dear God, I hope not. »

He chuckled, and for a moment (a very, very short moment), she slid him a look, and felt as if nothing had changed between them. As if she hadn’t spent the last eight months actively avoiding him. He put his frying pan down in the sink and his fingers brushed hers slightly.

« Let me take over, love? » He offered.

She blushed like a schoolgirl, and hated herself for it.

« I’m good. I'll wash, you'll dry, ok? »

He nodded before grabbing a dish towel and they fell into a quiet and well-balanced rhythm, the water running in the sink being the only noise filling the room before he spoke.

« So er… about last evening… »

« What? _Oh_ _no_ , did I do anything embarrassing? »

« Huh…I wouldn’t know that. »

Oh, _right_. The face of an obnoxious blonde flashed before her eyes. (Now, _why_ someone with a perfectly acceptable name like "Olivia" would insist on being called "Tink", just because her last name was "Bell" and it was "truly a laugh", she would never understand.) 

« Right…I forgot, you must have been quite busy. »

« Now what is _that_ supposed to mean? »

The bastard was daring to grin. _Ugh_. 

« Nothing. »

She grabbed a plate and did what she did best: she ran away. 


End file.
